


Oshynn - Matter of Life and Death

by alex_greene



Category: Harn, Harnworld
Genre: 707 TR, Harn - Freeform, Storm of 707, Tharda, Thardic Republic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_greene/pseuds/alex_greene
Summary: Oshynn has been living in the City of Coranan on the Island of Harn for almost five years, plying her trade as a Fyvrian Shek-Pvar. She is charged by the Thardic Prefect of Coranan with investigating a series of murders, and she is pressed to find the guilty party before the Churches of Agrik and Larani set off their next turf war on the streets.
Relationships: None





	Oshynn - Matter of Life and Death

'Oshynn?'

Oshynn looked up from the blood-stained corpse in front of her, and met the steady gaze of Sergeant Asel of the Coranan Red Guard. The dusty alley was not the nicest spot in Coranan, and the corpse lay face down amid a heap of old trash – broken wooden furniture, rotting food, broken ceramic pottery. The corpse's arms were beneath the body.

Oshynn stepped aside for a moment, picking up the hem of her black hooded robe. 'What is it, Sergeant?'

Asel's shadow fell across her from the mouth of the alley. 'This is an awful place to die, isn't it?'

Oshynn nodded. 'He was dumped here,' she said. 'There is little to no blood here, suggesting that he was killed elsewhere and brought here.' She slid her hand over her smooth, bald head. 'What is this part of Coranan used for, Sergeant?' she asked.

The Sergeant, a young man with short blond hair, looked at Oshynn, unafraid of the young girl's cool gaze. 'This is Rafter's Wharf,' he said. 'Just two streets away, and you're in the river.'

'That's odd,' Oshynn said.

'Why so?'

'Was his killer lazy or something? If he wanted to get rid of the corpse, he could have just taken him down to the river and let the Thard carry it downstream to Golotha.'

'I've no idea,' the Sergeant said. 'What can you tell me about the corpse, Oshynn?'

'The obvious, first – dead, male human. Young. About your age, height, build.' She looked at Asel. 'A blond, just like the other two.'

'How did he die?'

'This stab wound here,' Oshynn said, pointing to the deep gash in the side of his neck. 'Cut the main artery to his head. He was dead before he hit the ground.'

'Is it like the others?'

'It looks like it,' Oshynn replied. 'I'm betting that he fought off his killer, and probably sustained multiple cuts to his arms and chest before the killer moved in for the fatal blow.' She leaned over. 'You can help me turn him over.'

Asel grimaced and stepped back. Oshynn gestured. Two municipal dieners flanked the Sergeant and approached. Oshynn took a step back to don the black leather skullcap she had been carrying in her hand, tugging on the long straps to settle it right on her head.

'Turn him around,' Oshynn said. The dieners complied. Once Oshynn could see his face clearly for the first time, she gasped.

'Is there a problem?' Sergeant Asel asked.

Oshynn shook her head. 'No, Sergeant. I … I recognise him.'

* * *

'How long have you lived here, Oshynn?' asked Sergeant Asel. 'Your accent suggests that you come from Shiran.'

'I came here a few years ago,' Oshynn replied. 'I'd been on a ship, _The Courtesan_ , owned by my Auntie Keliran. We came here to trade; and I became a Fyvrian along the way.'

'You're young for a Shek-Pvar,' Sergeant Asel said.

'I'm almost seventeen,' Oshynn said, adjusting her skullcap. 'When I arrived here, I knew that my journey would take me away from the ship, because there was something I had to do here.'

'Something?'

'A task,' Oshynn replied. 'I'm not certain what – but so far, I've found a good job here while I've been waiting.'

She glanced at the dieners as they loaded the corpse onto the stretcher. 'Hold it,' she said, frowning. She stepped towards the corpse. 'Asel, come and take a look at this.'

Asel stepped forwards. Oshynn looked at the right hand of the corpse.

'It's a fist,' Asel said.

'Yes,' Oshynn replied. 'It's closed around something.' She tried opening the hand, but the digits remained stubbornly shut. 'Rigor mortis,' she murmured. She stood up, and listened. Bells chimed off in the distance. She nodded. 'Advanced, at that. The majority of the muscles have stiffened up.'

'So how long has he been dead?'

Oshynn looked at the corpse, her eyes unfocusing as she called upon the Fyvrian Principle of Life, Growth, Death, and Decay which infused her, body and soul. 'Based on the stage of rigor mortis,' she whispered, her voice hollow as the Principle suffused her aura and senses with power, 'he most likely was murdered around midnight.' She looked at Sergeant Asel. 'I heard the bells. About nine hours ago,' she said.

'It was a cold night,' Sergeant Asel said.

'I agree,' Oshynn said. 'What blood is present has had nine hours to dry in the air.' She pressed the corpse's flushed face. It stayed the same colour. 'Lividity has set in.'

Asel flinched at Oshynn's casual handling of the corpse. 'You said something about rigor mortis keeping his fist clenched?'

Oshynn nodded. The green Fyvrian Principle flared up again. She made a complex gesture towards the body, and the stiff fingers loosened and opened to her touch.

'What are you doing?' Asel asked, his voice conveying his horror.

'Reversing the effects of rigor mortis temporarily,' Oshynn replied, 'so that I can loosen his fingers enough to open his hand …' she said, '… and give me this.'

In the palm of his hand, Oshynn had seen the gleam of a shiny coin. She took the coin from his hand, and noted that the coin had left an impression in the corpse's palm.

She sighed, and dropped her spells. Oshynn's aura returned to normal, as the Principle returned to the centre of her soul, and the corpse's hand returned to stiffness, the flat fingers curling slightly before coming to rest.

Oshynn turned to Sergeant Asel to present him with the evidence in her hand, but she could not see him. She and the dieners craned their necks around the corner, to see Asel puking against a whitewashed limestone wall a short distance down the street.

* * *

Oshynn returned with the corpse to The Citadel, flanked by the dieners. The corpse had been loaded onto a black-painted wagon, and it trundled slowly through the streets. There were no onlookers. A foul stench had been rising from the Thard all week, and at this close proximity to the river, all the residents prudently stayed indoors and inhaled posies of scented flowers. Oshynn, the dieners, and the robed driver had their hoods drawn over their heads, as a mark of respect.

'Almost smells as bad as Araka-Kalai,' said one of the dieners.

'I didn't think you to be an Ilviran,' said the other.

'Let's show some respect, shall we?' Oshynn said, without turning around. 'Break silence only once we get to the Citadel. Leave the gossip behind in that alley.'

'Yes, Oshynn,' said the first diener.

They reached the imposing Citadel, a grand seven-storey edifice which sat on a small island in the Thard River, surrounded on the east by the slow-flowing river, and on the west by a stinking, refuse-filled, weed-choked moat.

Two men emerged from within the Citadel, and crossed the bridge to meet the small procession. Oshynn recognised them immediately as Deputy Commander Azikain Gelber and the Prefect himself, Toribir Wejik.

'Another one?' asked the Prefect.

Oshynn removed her skull cap as a mark of respect. 'Yes, Prefect,' she replied, looking forwards.

'At ease,' said the Deputy Commander. Oshynn and the dieners relaxed.

'What can you tell me?' the Prefect asked.

'Attacked, and killed with a stab wound to the neck,' Oshynn replied.

The Prefect gestured. The dieners went around the back of the wagon to retrieve the corpse. As the stretcher passed by Commander Gelber, the Commander gestured for them to stop.

A cloth had been draped over the corpse's face. Commander Gelber pulled back the sheet, and swore. He gestured to the Prefect, who stepped forwards, and gasped.

'There will be murder,' muttered the Prefect. He glanced sharply at Oshynn. 'Have you breathed a word about this to anybody?'

'No, Prefect,' Oshynn replied. 'Your instructions are clear on this – I was to bring corpses like these straight to the Citadel, in silence.'

The Prefect nodded. 'We must talk in private,' he said to the Commander. He glanced at Oshynn. 'You, too.' He nodded to one of the guards. 'You know where to take the corpse,' he said. 'Cover his face up. Say nothing, or you'll be feeding the fish in the moat. Understood?'

The guard nodded. Oshynn followed Gelber and the Prefect through the southwestern Irien Gate, into the palatial Citadel. She let them lead her into a large, echoing chamber, with a single long table and multiple chairs. The Prefect sat at the far end; she and the Commander stood flanking the Prefect.

'Does anybody know who the corpse is?' asked the Prefect.

'I recognise him,' Oshynn replied. 'I have seen him in the city, usually during the Pamesani Games.'

The Prefect nodded. 'You know who he is?' he asked.

Oshynn shook her head. 'I do not know his name,' she replied. 'He always seemed very … busy, usually surrounded by pleasure slaves, either heading to the Arena or leaving it.'

'What is your job in the Pamesani Arena?' asked Gelber.

'I and my people remove the corpses,' Oshynn replied. 'We don't make people into corpses.'

'Don't get smart with me, witch -'

The Prefect tutted, and waved Gelber back. He looked at Oshynn with calm eyes. 'I know his name,' he said; 'and when I tell you who it is, you will realise why I must compel you to remain silent. You must not inform a living soul of what I am about to say.'

'I swear,' Oshynn said, 'Though I might ask why it is necessary to give me this information at all. If it is not my job to know, that is.'

'You need to know,' the Prefect said, 'because I am now assigning you the task of identifying his killer; and, once identified, you must inform only myself. No-one else. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Prefect,' replied Oshynn.

'The decedent,' said the Prefect, 'is Patrek Medak, the brother of Puli, the deputy to the high priest of the Agrikan Order of Herpa the Mace.'

Gelber groaned. 'The Medaks,' he said, his palm on his forehead.

The Prefect nodded. 'Gelber, you may send for Sarton now. The embalmer knows what to do. Patrek has got to look pretty for when Puli arrives.'

* * *

Oshynn awoke from one of her recurring dreams, where she walked along a dirt path in a clearing in a forest, past ugly, grey, windowless buildings and tall stelae towards a vast temple-like building in grey stone.

She had had dreams like this before – but something else intruded into her dream: an odour of death; a cold night shadow.

Oshynn opened her eyes. 'I don't normally expect guests at night,' she said. 'Certainly not in my bedchamber.'

She sat up in bed. The room was narrow, with a staircase down to the ground floor on Oshynn's left. The room was built like a wedge shape, with the window opposite her bed at the narrowest point.

Two figures stood by the open window, facing her bed. Both were clad in black robes, anonymous in the shadows.

'If we are to talk, I would prefer to be talking in another room.' Oshynn gestured. 'You two lead, please. The kitchen. I assume at most one of you would like some hospitality.'

The intruders descended into the kitchen. Oshynn donned her black robe, but not her skullcap. By the time she had arrived, the figures were seated at the table, awaiting her.

'I must light a candle now,' she said, placing a good beeswax candle on the table and using a striker to light it. The candlelight shone on the dark figures. The one on the left wore a hideous mask, which was removed. Both figures pulled back their cowls, revealing their faces.

Both were women. Both looked identical.

'One alive, one dead,' Oshynn murmured, 'yet both in pain.' She leaned forwards. 'I do not know either of you, but I would imagine that you,' she said to the one on the left, 'joined the cult of Naveh, and you –' she added, looking at the other one – 'you found solace after death in the arms of Morgath.'

'I am Ola,' said the Navehan.

'Gera,' whispered the undead Morgathian

'We were sisters in life,' said Ola.

'And now, in death,' added Gera.

'Twins,' the Navehan said.

Oshynn nodded. 'I understand,' she said. 'We all have our paths.'

'Please tell me … us … who we think the deceased might be,' Gera said. Her tone of voice dropped on the last syllables. An imperative command, not an interrogative.

'And who do you think he might be?'

'The brother,' Ola replied, 'of the last descendant of Emperor Medak, former Emperor of the old Corani Empire. Medak the Impaler.'

'I am obliged not to tell a living soul,' Oshynn replied, looking at Gera, who nodded, smiling.

'So you must understand,' Oshynn continued to Ola, 'that if I say the words in this room, with only one living soul here, I have no control over who might be listening through the door.'

Ola nodded, and exited the room. The door closed. Oshynn looked around the kitchen.

'There is not another living soul in this entire room,' said Oshynn, 'to hear that I can confirm that I encountered someone who looked like Patrek Medak earlier this morning, and that the person was dead.'

Silence flooded the room. Soon, the door opened, and Ola entered. She locked gazes with Gera.

'You are an interesting host,' said Gera. 'You don't seem too concerned with entertaining a priest of Naveh and an amorvrin.'

'I meet all sorts of people,' Oshynn said. 'I've fished enough Navehans out of the river in the time I've been here, and you're not the first dead person I've seen – although I've never held much conversation with them before.'

Gera chuckled softly; a surprisingly warm laugh for a corpse. But then, Oshynn mused, _any_ laughter from a corpse would be, by definition, a surprise.

'So,' Oshynn said, 'I might recommend that your people keep yourselves busy, in case some Agrikans come along bearing fire.'

The sisters glanced at one another, and slipped their cowls back over their heads. 'We will look after our people,' said Ola.

'As will we,' Gera replied.

'Might I ask something from you?' Oshynn asked.

'Name the favour,' both sisters said.

'Next time you visit,' Oshynn said, 'I would appreciate it if you ask me first.'

* * *

The following morning dawned wet and windy. A gusty westerly from the northern Haonic Ocean brought with it freezing cold air and a bitterly cold rain.

Oshynn and Sergeant Asel stood in the empty street. The normally-dusty road had been turned into a long mudbath by the driving rain. Oshynn wore her black robe and skullcap, and a dark green wool and linen-lined leather cloth which had been treated with oil. Her black gloves were leather, and fingerless.

'Your feet are cold,' Sergeant Asel said to Oshynn.

Oshynn looked down to her bare feet, and to the dark mud in which she stood. She smiled, and looked at Asel's Guard uniform regulation footwear. 'So are yours,' she said. 'But you have boots on. What's your excuse?'

Asel flinched and shivered as the rain lashed against him, penetrating the soggy, inadequate fabric of his Guard uniform. 'What am I here for?' he asked.

Oshynn pointed down the road. 'We're here to meet someone,' she said.

'Is he coming?'

' _She_ is,' Oshynn replied. 'She's a Shenava. Isata of Codin. one of Viran Theron's best students.'

'Ah,' Sergeant Asel said.

Oshynn looked at the shivering Sergeant. 'Would you like to wear my cloak?' she asked. 'You look as though you need it more than I do.'

Sergeant Asel shook his head.

'Very well,' Oshynn said. 'Here she comes now.'

A single figure emerged from the rain, clad in dark brown and dark green. She approached the Guard and Oshynn, who stood awaiting her in the rainswept, empty street.

The new arrival pulled back her hood, revealing a mane of blonde hair. Her blue eyes pierced the rainy gloom. She met Oshynn's gaze.

'Shenava,' Oshynn said.

'Oshynn,' replied Isata.

'Who's the kvikir?'

Oshynn glanced at the Guard. 'Asel,' she replied. 'He's a Sergeant.'

'What's a kvikir?' whispered Asel.

'A non-Shek-Pvar,' Oshynn replied. 'A person not blessed with magic.'

Isata looked Asel up and down. She smiled. 'Your feet are cold.'

Asel nodded.

'Linen on its own, in weather like this, is not good,' Isata said. 'Did you receive a woollen outfit, or a cloak? Or was your Quartermaster more interested in embezzling funds for himself?'

Oshynn looked at Isata. 'Pardon me, Shenava,' she said, 'but has Viran Theron agreed to our meeting?'

'He has,' Isata replied. 'He had agreed to the audience with both of you.'

'Good,' Oshynn said. 'I wish I had time to stop at a clothier. Asel needs a woollen tunic, at the least, or he will freeze to death.'

'I could say the same about you,' Asel replied. Both Oshynn and Isata were barefoot. 'How can you stand to walk about like that, in this cold and wet?'

'We're Fyvrians,' Isata replied. 'We are of the Principle of the element of earth.'

'Barefoot like this,' Oshynn added, 'we are in contact with the source of our greatest strength.'

* * *

'A most unusual request,' said the Viran, sitting across the table from Oshynn. Beside her, Asel stood, rainwater dripping from his sodden clothes. Isata stood by the door, a distance from the group. Oshynn had hung up her skullcap on the chair back behind her.

'It is, Viran,' Oshynn replied. 'We need the services of another Fyvrian.'

Viran Theron Yisgaraen nodded slowly, and stroked his great, waxed moustache. 'I wish to ask you a few questions, Oshynn of Llysgaled,' he said. 'Before I decide.'

'Please, Grandmaster Yisgaraen,' Oshynn said, smiling. 'I have heard so much about you –'

'Who is your tutor?'

Oshynn frowned. 'Viran?'

'Who teaches you magic?' Viran Yisgaraen asked. 'Is there a Fyvrian Shek-Pvar operating in Coranan of whom I have no knowledge?'

'I know of no other Fyvrians here,' Oshynn replied. 'Just you, and Shenava Isata, and me of course.'

'You have no formal training,' Viran Yisgaraen said. 'Technically, you are little more than a kvikir.'

Oshynn sat back, the colour draining from her face. 'What did you just call me –'

'Address me as “Viran,”' said Theron. 'What sullen renegade broke the Pvaric Code? What rogue made you think that you could possibly be a Shek-Pvar, let alone speak to me as though we were fellows in the Art?'

Oshynn paused for a moment, then looked directly into the Viran's eyes. 'Is this what your Master once asked you?'

Oshynn heard Isata gasp. Viran Theron flinched in pain. Both sat in silence for a moment, glaring into one another's eyes.

Then Theron sighed, and broke into a smile. 'I like you, Oshynn of Llysgaled,' he said. 'I truly _like_ you. You ask painful questions. You don't scare easily. The Prefect has chosen the perfect investigator after all!'

Oshynn held her gaze a moment longer, then broke off and glanced at Asel, who looked terrified. She nodded. Asel took a step back.

'I take my job as seriously as you do, Viran Yisgaraen,' Oshynn said. 'Until my duties are discharged, I speak on behalf of the Prefect. For the purpose of fulfilling my duty, my questions are his.'

Viran Theron nodded, slowly. 'Tell me, though,' he added, 'which Fyvrian determined that you could be a good Shek-Pvar?'

'Riffen of Sharis,' Oshynn replied. 'We met back home, in Shiran.'

Grandmaster Theron nodded sagely. 'Not one of my Mavari,' he said. He glanced at Shenava Isata. 'Would you know of this Riffen of Sharis?'

'Indeed,' Isata replied. 'Mavar to Shenava Tolnoi. He became a Shenava in his own right when he was presented to the Masters at Gelimo Chantry.'

'Ah, Shenava Tolnoi,' the Viran said. 'I miss our philosophical discussions.'

'You could write to her at Gelimo,' Isata said.

'I might,' Viran Theron said. He looked at Oshynn. 'So he helped you to become a Shek-Pvar and taught you your first spells?'

Oshynn shook her head. 'I self-Attuned to the Fyvria Principle while I was travelling down the Thard,' she said, 'and cast my first spell at Telen.'

'Have you written down your workings?' the Viran asked.

'I have,' Oshynn replied. 'Once I came to Coranan. Paper and ink are expensive, but I find gainful employment in the Guild of Arcane Lore and with Lusil of Laplacka, transcribing dictated notes onto parchment. They pay me well enough to afford papers of my own.' She smiled. 'I make my own inks.'

'Interesting,' the Viran said. 'Most resourceful. Very well. I will make a formal request to look at your writings, once your duties have been discharged,' Grandmaster Theron said, in a kinder voice. 'As a professional courtesy, I would like to see what you have taught yourself since you joined our ranks … Mavar Oshynn.'

* * *

Isata was waiting for Oshynn when she emerged from her apartment in Sylud Way, the following morning. The Shenava approached her from across the street, which was already dry and dusty in the early morning sun of this late summer.

The entrance was narrow, with a single narrow window above it. Shenava Isata looked at the strange building.

'Do you live in a narrow house?' she quipped. “Narrow house” was Harnic slang for a coffin.

Oshynn looked coolly at Isata. 'Would you like to come in, Shenava, or shall we gossip on my doorstep like fishwives?'

Isata smiled. 'Come, Mavar,' she said. 'You have a duty to fulfil, and I have been sent by Grandmaster Theron to help.'

'Autopsy?'

'Yes,' Isata replied. 'I am to assist you, as per Viran Theron's instructions.'

It was a short walk westwards down Sylud Way, turning right to head north up Mindela Street towards the open gates of the Temple of Peoni. As Oshynn and Isata approached the Temple, surrounded by well-manicured lawns, half a dozen Peonian nuns emerged from the main entrance to meet them.

'We have the body laid out for your scrutiny,' said one of the nuns, as Shenava Isata stepped forwards. 'I am Silana of Jata, secretary to Therez of Philomen, of the Balm of Joy.'

'Thank you for this,' said Oshynn, stepping forwards.

Silana blinked in confusion. 'I thought that the Shenava would …'

Oshynn shook her head, and gently touched Shenava Isata's sleeve. Isata took a step back. 'You know Shenava Isata,' she said, 'and she comes from Viran Theron directly, so I needed her to make the introductions.' She glanced at the Shenava. 'I must conduct the autopsy, since this is my assignment. Shenava Isata is here to assist, and to confirm my findings.'

Silana looked confounded, but she stepped back to allow Oshynn and the Shenava through. They stopped briefly to whisper a soft prayer to Peoni in the main Temple, before being led to a windowless side chapel where Patrek lay on a slab, beneath a white sheet. A scribe entered the room, along with two assistants who brought in writing supplies.

Oshynn removed the sheet. Patrek was nude. Oshynn looked at it with disinterest. 'Is the scribe ready?' she asked.

'She is ready,' Silana replied, glancing at the scribe, who held the quill in her left hand.

Oshynn returned her gaze to the corpse. 'The deceased is a male, Thardan, height six feet and six inches, weight about …' She glanced at Silana.

'A hundred and twenty pounds,' Silana whispered.

'120 pounds,' Oshynn replied. 'Physically appearing fit on the outside at the time of death. Defined musculature, suggesting an active life. Noting a broken little finger on his right hand, sustained before death, and extensive contusions and lacerations on the upper body and the undersides of his arms.' She looked at Sergeant Asel. 'These look like knife gashes. He defended himself.'

Sergeant Asel nodded.

'The cause of death looks like a single, deep wound to the neck, transecting the external carotid artery,' Oshynn continued. 'The weapon is a blade of some sort, a narrow-bladed knife, possibly dual-edged. Not a kitchen knife; more like a dagger.'

Isata leaned closer. 'How deep is the wound?' she asked.

'Do we have a probe?' Oshynn asked. Silana gave Oshynn a long, thin instrument. She inserted the probe into the wound until it met with resistance, then brought it out.

'Someone stuck the weapon deeply into his neck,' Oshynn said. 'There was considerable force.'

'And therefore, anger,' Silana said, making a gesture sacred to Peoni – the fingertips of her right index finger to her mouth, and both hands over her heart.

'Let's look at the defensive wounds,' Oshynn said, lifting up Patrek's arm to look at the lacerations. 'Some very deep cuts here,' she said. 'The blade must have been very sharp, and most likely delivered with force.'

'Somebody must have hated Patrek,' Sergeant Asel said.

'That goes without saying,' Isata said. 'Are you looking at the corpse with Fyvrian eyes?'

'I am,' Oshynn replied. 'Every system in the decedent's body is open to me. The subject's contusions across his upper body are extensive, indicating that there was some sort of struggle. The extent and age of the bruises is suggesting that the fight began with fisticuffs, followed by a phase where the subject was overpowered somehow, and a dagger ended up in the killer's hand. The killer then went from using their fists to using the blade.'

'Interesting,' Isata said. 'I think I concur with your findings. I must also add something you might have missed.' She pointed lower down towards Patrek's abdomen.

'A bruise,' Oshynn said. 'By the shape of it, it was not caused by a fist.' She frowned. 'A small foot?' She glanced up at Isata, briefly noting the glow of Fyvrian energy and exceptional physical health of the Shenava.

'What's that?' Isata asked. Oshynn followed her pointing finger. A semicircular injury was visible on Patrek's skin. Oshynn stared at it.

'It looks like a bite mark,' she said. 'Do you concur, Shenava?'

'Without a doubt, Mavar Oshynn,' Isata replied. 'Though it is very small. It may not have been made by an adult.'

Oshynn frowned. 'A child?' she said. 'Was he struggling with a child?'

Silana whirled to face the scribe. 'Gaëtane, do not write that down!'

* * *

The Prefect read the scroll which held the transcript of the autopsy report. He drew the candle closer to the paper on the lectern, mindful of letting melting wax drip onto the parchment.

'So are you saying that Patrek was killed by a child, after a struggle?' he asked Oshynn.

'It looks like it,' Oshynn replied. 'I have yet to identify the child, but …'

The Prefect waved her to silence. He shook his head, and his brow furrowed deeply as he considered the ramifications.

'Patrek is … was … from an old family,' the Prefect said. 'Medak the Impaler was a particularly cruel ruler. Impaler's Gate was named after him. The guards maintain that strange voices are often heard there at night. I've dismissed them as Lia Kavair guilded thieves trying to sneak into, or out of, Coranan over the wall or through a secret passage we have yet to discover.

'The family is very powerful to this day,' the Prefect added. 'Puli is even supposed to have connections with the proscribed Church of Naveh.'

'So,' Isata said, 'he's dangerous.'

'Yes,' the Prefect replied. 'Patrek was prominent in the Red Shadows of Herpa, and the Order of Herpa the Mace.' He looked at the Fyvrians. 'The last thing we need is aggression from the Agrikans, because when they arrive, it does not take long for the Checkered Shield to turn up, spoiling for a fight. And both sides always get what they are looking for.'

'And ordinary people end up lying in the street,' Isata said.

'I would counsel the need to keep this quiet,' Oshynn said. 'Until you see fit to make an announcement, my Lord Prefect.'

'It's too late,' the Prefect replied. 'One of my men was an incurable gossip. He broke the news in the House of the Eternal Moment in Carana District last night.'

Oshynn and Asel glanced at one another. 'So the news has been broken?' Oshynn said. She glanced to the Prefect. 'You must send troops to guard Patrek's home at once!'

The Prefect smiled. 'I sent them early this morning,' he said.

'Then I must go at once to the deceased's home,' Oshynn said. 'If the gods grace us, it will be untouched, and I can find evidence identifying the killer.'

'If the gods grace Shek-Pvar,' said Isata.

Oshynn looked at her. 'No,' she said, 'they probably do not. We need no such blessings. But if the gods grace the Kvikir, we would hope that we can find the killer, before the Medaks do.'

* * *

The Clan Medak townhouse was on Sylud Way, just past the Clan Asarn townhouse. It was a corner house, fronted by a small triangular lawn, boasting a well in the centre.

Guards stood in front of the main entrance. At the approach of Oshynn, Asel, and Shenava Isata, they parted to allow them entry.

The door opened from within. Two young Thardic girls stared up at the horrified Isata. They looked filthy, and were dressed in rags. They flinched at the sight of young Oshynn, severe in her black robe, looking like a Morgathian priest of death.

Oshynn's expression was stern. She looked at the girls. 'Who are you?' she asked.

The older of the Thardic girls gathered her nerve to speak. 'We serve the Master,' she whispered, her voice trembling. 'We … we are awaiting his return.'

'Let us in,' Oshynn said. The girls allowed Oshynn and Isata to enter.

The girls led the team into the main chamber. It appeared to be spotless. Oshynn saw another four ragged girls in the room; they were busy cleaning and polishing. Lamps, lanterns, and candles glowed everywhere. Oshynn glanced at the windows: they were locked and barred, virtually light-tight. She looked around, surmising that even on the brightest day, the rooms would be in perpetual darkness but for the burning light from these lamps and candles.

'Where are your quarters?' Oshynn asked.

'Pallets in the back,' said the girl who'd spoken earlier.

Oshynn looked at Isata. 'Slaves?' she asked. Isata looked at her, horrified.

'They're so young,' Isata said. She looked at the girl who seemed to have become the other girls' spokesperson. 'How old is the youngest?' she asked.

'Eleven summers,' said the girl. 'We think.'

'Do you have names?'

'Master Patrek said that we are undeserving of names,' the girl said.

Oshynn heard Asel swear. She looked at the slaves' spokesperson. 'Gather everyone here in this room,' she said.

The girl turned and began barking commands to the other girls, who stopped what they were doing and turned to face Oshynn. Four more young girls emerged from side rooms, still clutching cleaning cloths.

'Is this everybody?' Oshynn asked.

The lead girl nodded.

'Your Master,' said Oshynn, 'will not be coming back.'

The girls reacted with sullen silence. Not sighs of relief, or tears. Just silence, as if this were not news to them.

Oshynn nodded. 'Which of you did this?' she asked. 'Which of you killed him?'

The girls looked at one another. They looked at Oshynn. The lead girl took a step forwards, and stared up at the Fyvrian Shek-Pvar in silence.

'So you're volunteering,' Oshynn whispered. 'Protecting the real killer?'

The girl shook her head. 'Patrek was going to take his sick pleasure,' she said. 'She punched him and bit him … but his knife lay there, on the ground, in its scabbard. So …'

'You cut him,' Isata said. 'And continued the attack.'

'He was on the ground, whimpering like a dog,' the girl said. 'So I stuck his dagger in the side of his neck.'

Oshynn heard the other girls weeping fearfully. She looked at their leader.

'Do you still use your name?' she asked. 'The one Patrek forbade you to use?'

'I am Tani,' said the leader. She glanced at the other girls, then back at Oshynn. 'What will become of the others?'

Oshynn looked at Isata. 'Do you have room for new Mavari?'

Isata smiled. 'Possibly one,' she replied. 'Though the Peonians are always looking for new acolytes.'

'Sufficient,' Oshynn replied. She looked at Tani. 'We'll take the girls to safety in the Temple of Peoni,' she said, 'and we'll see what the Prefect has to say.' She glanced at Isata and Asel. 'But we'll have to take you in. You have no choice but to face Thardic justice.'

* * *

Shenava Isata and Viran Theron knocked on Oshynn's door, the following tenday. The wind was picking up again; and while it was not yet raining, the sky overhead looked threatening.

Oshynn emerged from the interior of her narrow house. Behind her was Tani, dressed in a dark blue tunic and leggings, her feet as bare as Oshynn's, wearing one of Oshynn's spare cloaks.

'Come,' Oshynn said to Tani, her voice gentle. She let the girl step into the road, and took Tani under her cloak.

They made their way east along Sylud Way towards the bridge at the top of Thard Street, then crossed the bridge to the Rholis Gate to the north of The Citadel, Caer Coranan. This gate opened onto the castle's bailey, which boasted an opulent inner garden.

A silk-clad brunette approached the group, her exceptionally beautiful face marred by pursed lips.

'Are you the upstart who's bringing this slave trash here to trial?' the woman said to Oshynn.

'Please, Lady Khonary,' replied Oshynn, 'I am here in the pursuit of justice. The accused in in my custody. Nothing more.'

'Maeghel,' said Viran Theron, 'please stand aside and allow Oshynn to conduct her duties.'

Maeghel Khonary bowed to the Grandmaster and took a few steps back, sneering at Tani.

'The most beautiful woman in Coranan, apparently,' the Viran said to Oshynn.

'Who?'

'The girl who accosted you,' the Viran said. 'Maeghel Khonary. Her father is a Senator.' He looked around. 'What do you think of her?' Theron asked.

'Not much,' Oshynn said, peeling off her skullcap. She smiled. 'Remember; I come from Shiran, the “City of Sins,” and the plainest fishwife there looks like a Queen by comparison.'

Viran Theron chuckled.

Raised voices came from the Prefect's Office long before the Fyvrians reached the door. The guards let them in.

At the far end of the table were the Prefect, flanked by two men engaged in heated argument with one another. The Prefect himself sat, cradling his head in his hands.

'Enough!' barked Oshynn. The men stopped bickering for a moment, to glance over at Oshynn, who took a step forwards towards the table.

'Gentlemen,' Oshynn said, ' _do_ show some respect for the Office of the Prefect.'

Her tone of voice, and her gaze, brooked no dissension. The men sat down, and remained silent.

'Prefect,' said Oshynn, 'I have brought the accused, as per my duties.'

'Thank you, Mavar Oshynn,' said the Prefect. 'You may now outline the prosecution's case.'

Oshynn paused for a moment. She glanced at Viran Theron.

'It's your duty,' Theron said, 'to present all of the facts to the Prefect. It is not enough to just bring the accused to the presence of the Prefect: in accordance with Thardic law, you must see it through to the Prefect's verdict.'

Shenava Isata took a step forwards. 'Which is where I come in,' she said.

'You studied law?'

'Thardic law, Harnic law, even Rethemi law,' Isata replied. 'There is more to life than being a Shek-Pvar. And until my Pvaric studies take me away from people, I still have much to learn about them … and the systems of justice we all uphold.'

'Shenava Isata is studying law, because she is a candidate for membership of the White Hand,' Viran Theron said. 'We need to know kvikir law as much as Pvaric law.'

Oshynn nodded. 'So, then, what do I do now?'

'Begin by outlining the details of the crime committed, the name of the deceased, and the accused,' Shenava Isata said. 'Begin with these words.' She leaned over to Oshynn to whisper in her ear.

Oshynn nodded again, and turned to face the Prefect. 'My Lord Prefect,' she began, 'I shall begin these proceedings by the following.

'As duly-appointed Investigator, representing the Office of the Prefect, I was charged to investigate a crime against a citizen of Tharda. The crime is a murder, committed on the Day of Lesser Sapelah in the month of Agrazhar. The victim is Patrek Medak, whose Clan is under the protection of Clan Wejik; the protection of the Patron, namely my Lord Prefect.'

She took a step to one side, and allowed Tani to step forwards. 'This is the accused,' Oshynn said. 'One Tani, a slave, of no Clan.'

The Prefect's jaw dropped. 'Such a frail thing,' he whispered. Beside him, the men stared.

'You have said your piece,' said the Prefect. 'I must now say mine.' He rose to his feet. The men flanking him did likewise.

'Present with me in this court of fact,' the Prefect said, 'I have assembled a triumvirate to hear the words of the accuser, one Mavar Oshynn of Llysgaled, daughter of Arian of Shiran, as she brings the accused to face justice.'

'I accuse Tani of No Clan of killing Patrek Medak.' said Oshynn, 'and entreat that my Lord Prefect, in his mercy, hear my account and show justice in this instance.'

'I, Prefect Toribir Wejik, along with Nawehs Elernin, high priest of Larani in Coranan, and Paldrin Edrail, Harnic Primate of the Agrikan Order of Herpa the Mace, shall hear your account.' He glanced at the men. 'Reconvene here … six days hence, on the sounding of the dawn watch. Until then, this hearing is adjourned.'

* * *

Oshynn, Tani, Shenava Isata, Viran Theron, and Sergeant Asel sat in Oshynn's kitchen, towards the rear of her “narrow house.”

'It is the custom,' Isata said, 'to bet on the outcome of any trial. Indeed,' she added, 'sometimes it's a litigant's only source of income, especially if they are new in the trade and lack patronage. They may receive a fee from the Patron if they succeed, but that fee is never enough to live on.'

'What do I do now?' asked Tani, as she drank water from her plain terracotta cup.

'They've called a recess,' Isata said. 'This is to give us time to bring our case together and present the facts. The Triumvirate will hear our words, and deliver the verdict and determine an appropriate sentence.'

'But … six days?' asked Tani. 'Is that enough time?'

'It will have to be,' said Oshynn.

'Where do we begin?' asked Tani.

'I can review the law,' said Isata.

'In the morning,' Oshynn said, 'Tani and I will return to the scene of the crime.'

* * *

That night, the winds picked up and the rains hit Coranan, hard.

Oshynn listened to the pounding night rain against the shutters of her bedroom window. At the base of the window was a small ledge, which she used as a seat when she needed to think.

Tani lay in her bed, enjoying blissful sleep. Oshynn could not help but think of her own mother, Arian, back in Shiran. Arian had been involved with the slave trade, sadly as one of its victims. If it had not been for the intervention of an Agrikan noble from Rethem, who'd manumitted her and eventually sired Oshynn, not only would Arian still be in chains, but Oshynn herself would not likely have been born – or worse, she might have been born in servitude to a Thardic slaver, like the odious Goril who'd abducted Arian just to have leverage over Oshynn.

Oshynn felt Tani's mind stir; felt the images form in the girl's mind. A dream. A field of poppies, in summer, and running through the long grass, free under the sun.

Oshynn felt tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes, and attempted to sleep.

* * *

If anything, the rains afflicting Coranan were even worse in the morning, when Viran Theron and Shenava Isata arrived. Rainwater poured down the road like a steady stream, driven by the high winds which lashed out at passers-by.

'We should have been Lyahvi!' yelled Isata, as Oshynn looked down at the pair of them in the street below.

'Air mages?' Oshynn said.

'Yes,' Isata replied. 'At least they could have done something about this weather!'

'I'll come down,' Oshynn said.

She led them in, and seated them in the kitchen table. Tani had already risen and was tending to the fire. Oshynn looked at Viran Theron.

'She insists on working,' Oshynn said. 'I cannot stop her.'

'She could be useful to you,' Viran Theron said. 'Manumission is so much easier if you can hire a decent litigant to draught up the papers for you.'

'And charge a low fee,' Shenava Isata said. 'I've been reading up on the legal rights of slaves under Thardic law. It is not a long read.'

'What are their freedoms?'

'Very few,' Isata replied. 'Thardic law is influenced by the Azeryani and Karejian states, and both extensively trade in slaves. Slaves may not count upon having any rights at all, bar the privileges which individual masters may bestow upon them. No recourse in courts of law at all. If accused of a murder, the Patron is within their right to declare the verdict without even hearing the slave's defence, and pass summary judgment – which includes the death penalty.'

'I understand,' Oshynn said.

'They also have numerous obligations,' Viran Theron said, 'including defence of the household, and even the obligation to lay down their own lives, if necessary, to protect a household and their Master in the event of some form of incursion.'

'Sounds brutal,' Oshynn said. Her brow furrowed. 'What did you say about defence?'

'I said that –' began Isata. The pounding on the door interrupted them.

Oshynn went over to the door, and opened it. It was a breathless page from the Citadel.

'Come!' he said, between breaths. 'Another murder!'

'Show me,' Oshynn said.

* * *

Another alley. Another body.

Another blue-eyed blonde Thardic man.

Sergeant Asel looked at the corpse, then at Oshynn. 'Same killer?'

'It looks like it,' Oshynn replied.

'Then we have a problem,' said the Sergeant.

'I know,' Oshynn said. She looked at the Sergeant. 'So you bought an oilcloth cloak, too.'

Asel grinned. 'And better boots. I feel so much warmer,' he said, drawing the cloak about him.

Oshynn pulled the straps of her skullcap to settle it tight to her head, and adjusted the hood of her robe. 'Good,' she said.

Once again, the killer had left the corpse lying in an alley – this time, across town just off Erlin Sreet. They had long removed the body, and the indentation in the dirt was slowly yielding to the onslaught of the rain.

'Not good,' Oshynn said. 'No clues here.'

'Not even a coin held in the palm,' Asel said.

'I have been thinking of that,' Oshynn said. She gestured towards the entrance of the alley. 'Shall we? I would prefer a conversation in a slightly drier environment.'

* * *

The Prefect looked up from his notes. 'What do you mean, she's innocent?'

'Sire Prefect,' Oshynn said, 'the accused … was in my custody. All night.'

'So she could not have murdered this fourth man,' Prefect Wejik said. He sat back with a sigh. 'Very well,' he said. 'Dismiss the charges. We must begin again.'

'Yes, Prefect,' Oshynn said, blushing. ' _I_ must begin again.'

The Prefect leaned forwards. 'Anyone else from around here would have kept this quiet,' he said. 'Offered up the girl to the noose, taken their winnings and fee, and prayed to Halea and Peoni that the killer would have learned his lesson and moved to another city.'

He brought out a leather pouch, and dropped it on the table. It made a satisfyingly heavy sound. 'This bag of coin probably does not mean much to a Shek-Pvar,' Prefect Wejik said. 'But a citizen of Tharda would probably just take the money and retire to a villa on the shore of Lake Benath.'

'Yes, Sire,' Oshynn said. 'Or set up a Chantry somewhere. I hear that there are some Shek-Pvar who are not immune to the allure of luchre …'

'But not you.'

'Sire, I'll follow the trail to the killer,' Oshynn said, 'because …' She looked into his eyes. 'Because something more important is at stake.'

'And what would that be?'

'My reputation, Sire,' Oshynn said. 'If I walked away from this task, and left it unfinished …'

The Prefect smiled. 'You are a true child of Tharda,' he said, his voice warm. 'Very well, Oshynn of Llysgaled. The hunt does not end because you have caught the wrong deer. It is still a deer.'

'Yes, Sire,' Oshynn said, relief spreading across her face.

* * *

'What does this mean?' asked Tani.

'It means,' Oshynn replied, 'that you are still not off the hook. If we fail to catch the perpetrator, the Prefect will still be satisfied with sending you to the gallows as a scapegoat, and pray that the killer somehow stops murdering.'

Tani's face drained of colour. Her hand went around her neck.

'So we must press on. The hunt continues.'

'Do you believe we can find the killer?' Tani asked.

'I think so,' Oshynn replied. 'I think I will need to look at the other victims, and compare them to Patrek.'

Tani listened to the heavy rain outside. 'Tonight?'

Oshynn tucked Tani into the bed. 'Not tonight.'

Once Oshynn was certain that Tani was asleep, she crept downstairs to the kitchen area, and poured herself a mildly relaxing tisane from a ceramic bottle which had been given to her by her Aunt Keliran. As she sipped, she heard the faintest of taps from the door. Oshynn got up and went to the door. The wind howled outside, bringing rain into the house.

Ola, the Navehan priestess, stood in the road.

'Come on in, Ola,' Oshynn said. Ola entered.

'You are probably not accustomed to entering via the front door,' Oshynn said. Ola shook her head. They sat at the kitchen table.

'Gera?' asked Oshynn.

'Busy,' replied Ola.

'A number of men are dead at the hands of one killer,' Oshynn said. 'I hope that the killer is not one of yours.'

Ola shook her head. 'Not these men,' she said.

'Tell me if your people knew of them,' Oshynn said.

'Not us,' Ola replied. 'Nor Gera, either. But they are known to some of the Lia-Kavair.'

'Great,' Oshynn said. 'Which chapter?'

'The worst,' Ola said.

'The Syluda gang,' Oshynn said. 'Koral the Bloody.'

'The most violent, and least thoughtful, of the guilded criminals of Coranan,' Ola said. 'He is no friend of ours. You know of those Navehan bodies you fished out of the Thard? Koral most likely put them all there.'

The door and windows rattled. 'That wind is ferocious,' Oshynn said.

'If you were an Odivshe Shek-Pvar,' Ola said, 'you would probably be able to do something about the rain. We need an Odivshe in the city.'

'Why?' asked Oshynn, frowning.

'The waters are rising,' Ola said, drawing her black hood over her head again. 'The Thard is threatening to break its banks.'

'Is that what Gera is doing?'

'Saving her church's treasures from the crypts, yes,' Ola said. 'Our people are already out of the city and heading for high ground. I stayed back to let you know this, as a courtesy. If Coranan floods, it would be best for you and the Shek-Pvar to let your little slave go. Flee. Save your own lives.'

And with that, Ola rose to her feet. 'Thank you for the hospitality,' she said. 'We will remember this. I just hope I won't be fishing _your_ body out of the Thard.'

* * *

Oshynn and Asel wandered along the corridor towards the room which had been set up as a makeshift mortuary for the latest body.

'Where are the others?' Oshynn asked.

'Palco of Hoyn, Feilin of Brugo, and Patrek Medak have already been interred, in accordance with Peonian custom,' Asel said. 'There is a crypt for the poor dead, and they have been taken there to their final rest. Just this one now.'

'Do we have identification?' Oshynn asked. There was a faint sound from up ahead. Oshynn realised that it was coming from the makeshift mortuary. It sounded like mourning. The sound grew louder as they approached.

'We do,' Asel replied. They reached the doors, and opened them.

Oshynn saw a group of Peonian nuns gathered about a table in the centre of the room. The sounds of mourning came from them. Oshynn approached the table, and found herself looking at a young man dressed in fresh priestly robes.

'Meet Tadol of Kirnik, formerly from Imrium,' Sergeant Asel said. 'He heard the calling to join the Peonian Irreproachable Order, and came to Coranan to serve.'

Oshynn looked into a face which bore a passing resemblance to Patrek Medak. 'And Peoni will receive him to her bosom,' she said.

* * *

'There are four dead men,' said Oshynn, in the Temple's communal refectory.

Across from her on the long table sat Asel, flanked by the two leaders of the Peonian Orders in Coranan, Jerom of Borskin and Therez of Philomen.

Oshynn looked at Jerom. 'You've lost one of your own, now,' she said.

'You have our full aid,' Jerom said.

'I need it,' Oshynn replied. 'What do all of the dead have in common?'

'That's the odd thing,' Therez replied. 'Three of the men are known to us. One was our brother in the Irreproachable Order, of course; but we know of the other two because they had both come to us within the past year.'

'For what purpose?' asked Asel.

'Both had needed healing,' Therez said. 'Palco had sustained a knife wound in a fight with boys from another Lia-Kavair chapter, possibly the wharf rats run by Dewell the Riverman. His arm was healed and there was no infection, but his forearm bore one long scar down its length.

'And Feilin … he was being treated with Elmithra,' Jerom said. 'He had contracted a disease from an encounter with a young woman. She had been sold to Feilin by Marcand of Gorra, a trader in slaves in Elatus Avenue.'

'Has anyone got a description of the young woman?' asked Oshynn. 'And has she been interrogated since she gave Feilin his disease?'

'Not really,' Jerom replied. 'She is most likely being held by Marcand back in his town house.'

'So there is no possibility of bringing her out to interrogate her? No way of knowing if she is the common thread binding the dead together?'

Therez looked at Oshynn, sadly. She shook her head.

Oshynn pondered for a while. 'What if …' she said, looking at the others, '… we could lure her out of his place?'

'How?' asked Sergeant Asel.

'My Aunt Keliran,' said Oshynn. 'She gave me … a gift.'

* * *

'It's empty,' said Jerom, shaking the earthenware bottle. 'I don't need to take a look inside to know.' He returned the bottle to Oshynn, who set it down on her kitchen table.

'This bottle,' Oshynn said, 'is truly a gift.' She looked at Asel, Jerom, and Therez. 'Let me show you what it can do.'

'Please demonstrate,' said Therez.

'Water, fit to drink,' said Oshynn, picking up the bottle in both hands. A moment later, the bottle felt heavy in her hands. She shook it. It sloshed. She poured its contents out into three cups, and handed them to Asel, Jerom, and Therez. They peered into the cups, sniffed them, and drank the contents.

'Sweet,' said Jerom.

'Very refreshing,' Therez said.

Once the cups had been emptied, Oshynn held the bottle again. 'Pomegranate juice,' she said. This time, the bottle yielded three cups of pomegranate juice.

'Impressive,' said Jerom. 'But what does this have to do with …'

Oshynn emptied the bottle into a jug, and showed everybody that it was empty. She stopped it, held it out in both hands, and whispered 'Elmithra.'

When she unstoppered the bottle, a faint glow came from within. Oshynn poured a small measure of a clear, fragrant fluid into the cups. The fluid seemed to glow with tiny sparkles of some kind of golden dust which lay suspended in the liquid.

'Drink,' Oshynn said. 'A literal cure for what ails you.'

Therez looked at the bottle, which Oshynn had stoppered, but not before finding a second jug and placing it on the table to be filled. Therez' expression was one of awe and wonder.

They drank the panacea eagerly.

'That was probably enough to increase the length of our lives by a year,' Jerom said. He looked at the jug. 'May we take that back to the temple? We have patients we can treat.'

'Please do,' Oshynn replied. 'Next time, bring a case of empty bottles. Make certain they have been thoroughly cleaned.'

The looks of open awe on the Peonians' faces told Oshynn everything she needed to know. She now had their patronage.

'Now,' Oshynn said, 'about our plan ...'

* * *

They executed the plan that afternoon. The Peonians arrived at Marcand's house of slaves, knocking on the reinforced door. Marcand himself opened a hatch in the door, and peered at two Peonian Acolytes with the strange handled crate they were carrying between them.

'Treatments,' the young girl said. She was bald, and had the most piercing eyes.

Her partner, a taller man with blond hair, looked at Marcand. 'If any of you in there need a cure for a disease, we have brought something for you.'

They set down the crate, and opened it. There, packed in straw, were a dozen glass bottles, their liquid contents sloshing and sparkling gold.

The girl proffered one of the bottles. Marcand tried to reach through the hatch, but the bottle was too large to fit. He handed back the bottle, and opened the door to grab at the Elmithra bottle.

'You only need to take a single swig,' said the Acolyte.

'Shut up,' Marcand replied, taking a long draught. A moment later, he looked at the Peonians.

'I don't … under … stand …' he said, sinking to his knees in the filth of the road outside his door.

Oshynn looked at the slaver as he slumped into slumber in the dirt. 'You are where you belong,' she said, stepping over him and entering the building.

Within, the rooms were dark and dingy. Their first sight was of a dozen or so slaves, all women, kept in chains in a single large antechamber, lying in straw. Not all looked like locals – Thardans. One, a ferocious redheaded woman, snarled at them and cursed in a language not known to Asel.

Oshynn looked at the woman. 'What happened to you?' she asked, in the same language.

'You speak Surikal,' said the woman, taken aback. 'How do you –'

'I can explain later,' Oshynn replied. 'Can you get these women to safety?'

'I can,' said the woman. 'What is your name, child?'

'Oshynn of Llysgaled, from Shiran.'

'Albalny of Sunis. I trained in Shiran,' said the woman, as Oshynn began to pick the lock holding the chain. 'I trained under Merele of Kantar. You may have heard of her.'

'My Aunt Keliran trades well with her,' Oshynn said. 'Damn. Snapped.' She looked at the broken lockpick in her hand, then back at the heavy padlock.

'I don't have time for this,' she said, reaching into the crate and pulling out a small leather bag.

'What are you doing?' Albalny asked, as Oshynn took some small circles of wood and placed them into a link in each slave's chain.

'Watch,' Oshynn said, gesturing.

In seconds, each of the pieces of wood began to expand, pressing against the links until they groaned, bent open, and shattered. The greatly-enlarged, distorted blocks of wood fell to the floor, their job done.

Albalny picked up the wooden block, which seemed to have returned to its previous size. The wood came apart in her fingers. She looked up at Oshynn, who reached out a hand.

'I can rise to my own feet,' snarled Albalny, getting up. Beside her, the other slaves also stood.

'Who wants to join me?' Albalny asked. The women nodded, their faces grim.

'You're no Peonian,' Albalny said to Oshynn. 'What are you?'

'Shek-Pvar,' Oshynn replied. 'Fyvrian.'

'Why would you ever want to save a group of miserable slaves?'

Oshynn looked at the fierce woman. 'I must ask one of you some questions,' she said, 'and then you can all be on your way.'

Albalny looked at her companions. 'Which one?'

'The one Marcand rented to Feilin of Brugo,' Oshynn said. 'The one who gave Feilin the disease.'

Albalny nodded. A pale brunette stepped forwards.

'Jasha,' said Albalny. 'Can you treat her?'

'Here,' Oshynn said, pulling out one of the Elmithra containers. 'We only laced the one bottle with a sleeping draught – the one we gave to Marcand. These contain pure Elmithra. Each one of you take one with you. No more than a mouthful each season. You will feel the benefits immediately.'

'Come, sisters,' said Albalny. She took a swig from her bottle, reached for Oshynn, and kissed her on the lips, her breath tasting of Elmithra.

'If you were but older,' Albalny said, caressing Oshynn's cheek, 'and not already taken up by that Shek-Pvar witchcraft, oh, the things I could teach you.' She took a step back. 'You'd have to wear the vestments of office of a proper priestess of Agrik, and not that … ridiculous … garb.'

The women departed, leaving Jasha behind. Oshynn and Asel looked at the freed slave.

'Jasha,' said Albalny, from the door. 'You know where to come afterwards.' She glanced at Asel and Oshynn. 'Not you,' she added. 'We would rather you didn't follow us, or her.'

Oshynn watched Jasha as she took a large mouthful of the curative Elmithra. Jasha looked back into Oshynn's eyes. 'What would you like to know?'

* * *

'It was Marcand of Gorra,' Oshynn said, placing the coin she had taken from Patrek's hand onto the Prefect's table. She slid it across to the Prefect, feeling the rough wood beneath her fingers.

'What is this?' asked Prefect Wejik, looking up from the coin to Oshynn.

'Payment,' Oshynn said. 'For a replacement slave. Marcand was about to … dismiss one of his slaves, for being unfit for her duties as a pleasure slave.'

'How so?' asked the Larani priest Nawehs Elernin.

'My Lord,' Oshynn said, 'the slave had fallen foul of four men, all handsome and lusty. All, it would seem, of fair hair and blue eyes. Probably Kandayan by birth.'

'Effete worms,' sneered the Agrikan, Paldrin Edrail. Nawehs bristled.

'And these were the murdered men?' asked the Prefect.

'Indeed, Sire,' Oshynn replied. 'Marcand had rented one of his slaves out to the men – Palco, Feilin, Patrek, and his brother Puli ... your deputy, Sire,' she said to Paldrin. 'You know how Puli and Patrek look alike.'

'I saw them,' Nawehs said. 'Back before they died. We could never obtain enough evidence, or patronage, to prosecute them. The Medaks were too well-connected, even though they were no longer active in Thardic society.'

The Prefect frowned. 'So Marcand killed them all, because?'

'Because, Sire,' Oshynn said, 'one of them – Puli, possibly – had contracted a disease, which he had given to the slave of Marcand.'

'And why would he want revenge on the men?'

'Because he had taken his due from her, upon her return to his home,' Oshynn replied, 'and caught it from her.'

The triumvirate sat back, breathing a sigh as enlightenment dawned.

'Did Patrek die at Marcand's hand?' asked Nawehs.

Oshynn shook her head. 'It was dark in Patrek's house,' she said. 'When I entered, I noticed how all the light came from artificial sources – none from the day.'

Sergeant Asel took a step forwards. 'Sire, I believe that that was because every door and window within was heavily bolted and locked.' He glanced at the Larani priest. 'Presumably to keep the slaves from escaping.'

'The heavy doors and windows left the household perpetually dark without those lanterns and candles,' Oshynn said. 'At night, I presume the girls slept fitfully in total darkness, and every sound would make them flinch from fear.'

'Go on,' the Prefect said.

'The likeliest explanation is this,' Oshynn said. 'Patrek had been called out at night by Marcand. The trader wanted to buy one of his slaves back from Patrek, and had offered him that coin,' she said, pointing to the coin on the table, 'to transfer ownership back to Marcand.

'Imagine, if you will, my Lords,' Oshynn continued, 'a situation like this. Marcand returns to his place, already making up his mind as to which girl to offer back to Marcand. He enters the room in pitch darkness, and grabs the girl. Perhaps his eyes are better accustomed to the dark than the others in the room. Perhaps he has a lantern with him to see the girls' faces. Who knows?

'All that the girls knew was that they were awakened with a bright light, shining in their faces, and then darkness. No idea who was in the room with them. Then one of the older girls hears one of hers being rough-handled, and grabs a knife, which happens to be Patrek's, and …'

'And, half-blinded, in the dark, confronts and attacks a perceived intruder,' said Paldrin. 'Admirable.'

'And permitted under Thardic law,' said Shenava Isata, stepping forwards. 'Thardic law inherits many of its core values from Azeryani law on the continent, and one clause in the statues clearly states that slaves may be required to lay down their lives in defence of their household, Clan, and Master.' She grinned. 'She did not have time to identify Patrek, nor could she see him properly, half-blinded as she was.' She glanced to Oshynn. 'Tani is not only excused her act, under Thardic law – the law demands that she be freed.'

'And so it shall be,' said the Prefect.

'But what about the Peonian?' asked Paldrin.

'Marcand again,' said Sergeant Asel. 'He gave Patrek the money, expecting to have a new girl in his hands. When Patrek failed to turn up with the girl – indeed, failed to turn up at all – he took it out that night on someone whom he thought was Patrek, but who turned out to be someone who only _looked_ like Patrek, particularly from behind.'

The Prefect glanced to Nawehs and Paldrin, both of whom nodded. The Prefect looked to Oshynn.

'You have discharged your duties in full,' he said. 'This investigation is closed. You may return to your duties, Oshynn of Llysgaled.' He tossed the money pouch to Oshynn, who caught it.

'Thank you, my Lords,' Oshynn replied, bowing to the Agrikan and to the Laranian. 'My Lord Prefect,' she said, bowing to Prefect Wejik. Oshynn turned to leave, preceded by her retinue.

'Wait,' asked Paldrin. Oshynn turned to face the Agrikan priest.

'How much did you win?'

'Sire?'

'How much of your money did you bet?'

'On what, Sire?'

'On the outcome of the trial.'

'I didn't bet anything,' Oshynn replied. Beside her, She could see Isata grinning out of the corner of her mouth. Oshynn watched as the triumvirate spluttered in bemusement. Then the group left the Prefect's chamber.

On their way home to Tani, Sergeant Asel stopped. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'Why did you not bet? Everybody bets on the outcome of trials.'

'I don't,' Oshynn replied, hefting the large pouch of coin. 'I only bet on certainties.'

'What did you do?'

'I found out who was taking the bets on this trial,' Oshynn said, 'and persuaded him to inflate the odds against me. And then I took a small percentage fee of his winnings, in exchange for enough Elmithra to extend his life span by two years.' She smiled. 'I only bet on certainties.'

'And what about Marcand?' asked Asel.

'The Prefect knows that he cannot touch Marcand,' Isata said. 'He has more connections in the Senate, in the Lia-Kavair, and with the Order of Herpa, than Patrek and Puli Medak combined. Marcand probably has ancestors going back to Medak the Impaler. Who knows; maybe one of his ancestors was responsible for ending Medak's reign in the first place.'

'So … so he gets away with multiple murders?'

'You know, for a Red Guard,' Oshynn said, 'you truly need to study some more Thardic law.'

'He is handsome enough,' Isata said, 'I will teach him.'

'But Marcand …' said Asel, as Isata led him away.

'Forget it, Asel,' Oshynn said. 'It's Coranan.'

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Slavery
> 
> Copyright © Alex Greene
> 
> Based on Harnworld by N Robin Crossby, Kelestia Publications and Columbia Games, Inc. Original characters are copyright © Alex Greene. All properties belonging to the respective publishers are copyright © Keléstia Productions Ltd. and Columbia Games, Inc. All rights reserved.


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